


come on pretty baby (i'll be taking you down)

by kimaracretak



Category: Nikita (TV 2010)
Genre: F/F, Pre-Series, a lot of implied amanda/ari, bb!kgb!amanda universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>she laughs like god; her mind's like a diamond</p>
            </blockquote>





	come on pretty baby (i'll be taking you down)

**Author's Note:**

> fic that was started in order to preempt a rage!explosion over madeline's death in 2x19, fic that just ended up angry about madeline's death in 2x19
> 
> au in that i wrote it back in s2 when my preferred headcanon for amanda was still 'russian spy'

It begins in a bar, as all backroom deals must.

It begins with a woman whose auburn hair shines under the dim lighting as she leans back in the leather booth. Her lipstick matches her nail polish, her nail polish matches her wine, and all three match the blood of the man whose throat she slit four hours ago.

Her name is Amanda, and this is what the world sees: a lithe twentysomething in a tight black dress and killer heels. Waiting for a woman, because there is no other reason she would be here alone at this time of night.

Her name is Amanda and this is what she knows: the KGB has taken the girl out of Moscow but Russia is still in her blood, just as surely as there is a pistol and a hypodermic of arsenic in her purse. She lost her accent out of necessity but kills for the love it, a love that runs as deep as her love for a man named Ari Tasarov and slightly deeper than her love of manipulating Senator Mattison’s chief of staff.

It is January, 1992. Amanda is a weapon. Madeline Pierce is her tool. Madeline Pierce is late.

She takes another sip of her wine, taking the opportunity to glance at her watch. Half past ten.  If Madeline doesn’t appear in the next ten minutes, then she can only assume something went wrong. It would be a pity to leave the capitol, Amanda muses as she sets her glass down. She thrives in the nexus of power and (sometimes literally) cutthroat competition (she likes to imagine she can still smell the blood underneath her fingernails). The wine is better than back home, and the women she fucks are almost enough to make her stop missing Ari at night.

Speaking of the women … Madeline enters like a shadow, drawing all eyes to her as she moves confidently through the bar. _Mine_ , Amanda thinks, and doesn’t stop the flash of pride that flares up at the idea that one of the most powerful women in Washington will be spending tonight at her table, in her bed.

She stands to greet Madeline with a smile, tilting her lips up for a brief kiss but pulling away before the older woman’s hands can find purchase in her hair. Madeline is, after all, late, and Amanda informs her of that curtly as they take their seats.

“I could have been on time,” Madeline says casually as she pours her own glass of wine, “I could also have left twenty five angry, suspicious reporters behind me on the Capitol steps. I don’t think that would have ended well for either of us.”

Amanda clicks her glass lightly with Madeline’s and hides her annoyance behind a sip. The media. Of course. Such a uniquely American problem, but Madeline could put on a face for them that Amanda envied.

“All these late night sessions must be taking quite the toll on poor Senator Mattison,” she says instead, steering the conversation back to the true reason the two of them are ensconced in one of the capitol’s best-kept secrets at nearly 11pm.

Madeline’s laugh would sound genuine to anyone else. “Oh, he wasn’t there tonight. He left for home around four this afternoon. I managed the office, we had staff on the floor - you know how it goes.”

She does, her studies and her time with Madeline have left her with a grasp of politics that she has heard called uncanny and she prefers to think of as _brilliant_. “I do indeed. I hope the Senator was able to get some rest, then, knowing he has such a competent team?”

“I hope so as well,” Madeline murmurs. “He has sleeping pills -” she leans forward, stretching across the table until her lips are nearly brushing Amanda’s ear. “I was wondering if you had any suggestions for what he should take them with?”

Amanda smile is positively lethal as she replies, just as quietly, “I’ve always found vodka to be … most effective.”

Madeline sinks back into the booth fighting to keep the smile off her face. Mattison was dead, then. Quick, brutally efficient, and no one in Metro PD would think twice about ruling it suicide, especially considering the senator’s alcoholism. “No complications, then?”

Amanda shrugs, finishes her glass. “There was a neighbor. No connection to the senator, but he was quite - opinionated, in matters of the old man’s health. I had a very interesting conversation with him.”

Madeline suppresses a shiver, not sure she was ready to know what, exactly, that was a euphemism for. That the neighbor was dead as well was clear enough, but there was something animalistic in the young Russian’s eyes that spoke volumes more than Madeline wanted to hear. Oh, she knew what she was getting into when she got involved with the KGB - she thought she had, at least - but Amanda seemed to enjoy killing for the sake of killing more than Madeline had expected.

The younger woman’s eyes glint with not-so-subtle amusement as she watches Madeline move slightly farther away from her and grab her wine glass for a distraction. While their relationship had been very satisfying on both a personal and professional level, it was an open secret in DC that Madeline Pierce’s ruthlessness didn’t extend past policy debates. Hence, Amanda’s presence in her life. It was a pity, really, that Madeline didn’t have the stomach for the more … intense portions of Amanda’s craft, the Russian thought. In another life they would have been quite the pair.

But in this life, she has Ari. Tomorrow, she will call him and describe every detail of the deaths - the senator and the neighbor both, and he will tell her exactly how he would have joined in, during, and how we would have touched her, after - after they had run just far enough that it wouldn’t be suspicious, they would duck into an alley, laughing, and she would have her tongue in his mouth and her skirt would be around her waist and she’s already memorized the exact noise he would make when she would describe how she would play with him through the fabric of his pants before - 

She shivers too, now, for an entirely different reason, and suddenly the bar seems too hot, too confining. “Madeline,” she says, licking her suddenly dry lips, “we should go.”

“Should we?” Madeline has finished her own glass of wine by now, and it’s given her enough courage to run a shockingly warm bare foot up Amanda’s stocking-less leg.

Her breath catches in her throat as Madeline laughs, deep and not nearly as dangerous as she thinks, but it’s still enough to set her blood burning and she hisses “ _yes_ ,” motioning for the check with the hand that’s not reaching across the table to tangle with Madeline’s.

Madeline’s smile has an edge to it as she squeezes Amanda’s hand, says, “well, I suppose I do owe you,” and Amanda bites her lip to stop herself from laughing, squeezes her thighs together and thinks _you have no idea._

*

They decide to walk the mile and a half back to Madeline’s place, neither of them trusting the other to behave in the cramped backseat of a taxi. Not that Amanda _minds_ putting on a show, but Madeline has a Senate seat to think of now, and if it means twenty-five minutes walking arm-in-arm through the city while she gets to whisper to Madeline exactly what she plans to do when they get home instead of seven minutes groping each other in a cab, it’s not a bad trade off.

They make it halfway down the Mall before they stop, Madeline unable to contain herself any longer. Amanda’s pushed up against a tree almost before she realizes what’s going on - _stupid, stupid,_ she scolds herself, _this is no time to slip up because of a pretty face -_ and she gasps slightly at the force of the impact. “Eager?” she laughs, a bit breathlessly.

“Your fault,” Madeline replies, kissing her way down Amanda’s neck, uncaring of how exposed they were. “If you would just shut up for two minutes we might’ve made it home.”

Amanda grins, toys with the buttons on Madeline’s shirt. “Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like you like this, all wild and - and - _oh,_ ” she trails off as Madeline’s questing hands discover that underwear and Amanda’s dress really, really don’t go together.

Madeline presses closer, trapping her hand between their bodies and ignoring Amanda when she rolls her hips, wordlessly demanding the older woman’s fingers inside her, now. “Think you can be quiet?”

“Depends,” Amanda reaches for Madeline’s hand, only to have her wrist pinned back against the smooth bark. “Think you can be fast?”

“I think you don’t need much encouragement.” Madeline is still maddeningly composed, and Amanda moans in frustration. She’s been wet ever since they left the bar, and it was unfair to have her fingers right _there_ and still doing nothing.

“ _Madeline,_ ” she warns, and then the soon-to-be-senator slips two fingers into her without another word and Amanda bits her lip hard to keep from making a sound and decides to stop thinking.

It’s not so much that Madeline’s quick, but after a year she knows Amanda’s body better than most people, and Amanda had been waiting for this all day.  Her nails are almost a weapon in their own right, and they claw furrows down Madeline’s back as her thumb circles Amanda’s clit. She kisses Madeline hard when she comes, back arched against the tree, silent as a shadow and infinitely more deadly.

Madeline steps away to let Amanda catch her breath, re-arranging her shirt as the other woman disentangles her hair and brushes bits of leaves off her dress - not that there’s much fabric there for the leaves to cling to, but it’s the show that counts. “Well?” she asks as they make their way back to the deserted sidewalk hand-in-hand.

Amanda pretends to consider for a moment. “I believe that’s sufficient repayment for my prep work,” she declares.

“Is that your way of saying I did well?”

“It’s my way of saying _walk faster._ ”

*

Madeline’s apartment is typical DC - maybe a bit higher quality than others inhabited by other senatorial chiefs of staff, but solid and functional and rather like the woman herself. There is no doorman, but the cameras are obvious even in this ostensibly good neighborhood, and Amanda makes sure there’s no way for her face to be caught as she enters the building a half-step behind Madeline. It’s just one more thing she’ll have to start remembering, because if Madeline is going to win Mattison’s senate seat, she can’t afford to be seen entering her apartment with strange younger women at midnight. Especially when that younger woman has earned herself something of a reputation with Metro PD for taking on - well, _delicate_ missions, assignments that require silence and subtlety and the flash of a knife blade without the bother of a bit of paper signed by a judge.

Madeline unlocks her door quietly enough, but grumbles in annoyance when it sticks briefly in its frame before swinging open. Amanda wants to laugh - she remembers the tempermental door from her last (and first) visit to Madeline’s, but apparently Madeline forgets. Too many nights spent at Amanda’s, perhaps - or maybe she’s just distracted, because the straps on Amanda’s dress have been inching their way downwards for the past ten minutes.

“Your son-” Amanda begins, but Madeline cuts her off easily.

“With his good-for-nothing father,” she says, shutting the door behind them with a snap. “Busy getting his head filled up with stories of battles and glory and honor while he’s still too young to know what _dishonorable discharge from the Marine Corps_ means.”

Amanda hums in approval, eyeing Madeline with hungry eyes. “And yourself - _Senator?_ Do you have any stories for me tonight?” The title is bait, a tantalizing glimpse of what could - what _will_ \- be, and Madeline takes it eagerly, wrapping her arms around Amanda’s waist and pulling her in for a bruising kiss.

“I have some ideas,” she says mischievously, playing with the zipper on the back of Amanda’s dress. “About a woman who doesn’t care who she has to kill to get a certain someone a Senate seat . . . about how that someone is so _very_ grateful that she spends quite some time with the woman who helped her . . .”

“I have a story too,” Amanda says, making quick work of Madeline’s blouse. Any other night she would play along with Madeline’s word games, delighting in having found someone she could match wits with so easily. But tonight she is impatient, keyed up from the murders and Madeline’s constant whispers. Their brief, hurried encounter on the Mall seems like it was forever ago, but she imagines she can feel the ghostly echo of Madeline’s fingers on her skin, lighting her up. “It’s a story about how a certain someone needs to shut up and _fuck me._ ”

Madeline yanks the zipper down and lets the silky black fabric pool at Amanda’s waist, and her eyes shine as she realizes that panties aren’t the only type of underwear that didn’t go with the dress. She spins Amanda around and pushes her down to the couch with a predatory grin, more than happy to comply with Amanda’s order.

Amanda sighs happily as Madeline kneels between her parted legs and puts her tongue to much better use. It’s not as good as it is with Ari - it’s never as good as it is with Ari - but with Madeline’s lips around her clit, Madeline’s fingers tweaking her nipples just so, it’s easy to get lost in the sensation. They won’t have much time for this after the campaign starts, after all, and she’s determined to make the most of the time that they do have.

*

Usually after sex, Madeline wants to curl up against Amanda’s body on whatever surface they’ve found themselves on - the bed, the couch, the floor, that one very memorable time on the Senator’s desk - and drift off for a while, but tonight Amanda’s having none of it. They had moved to the bedroom some time ago (Amanda finds it too easy to lose track of time when Madeline’s involved), Madeline’s dark hair forming intricate patterns on the white sheets as Amanda thanked her for her payment. Now, that same hair is spread out over Amanda’s overheated skin, Madeline’s head pillowed against Amanda’s breast and her tongue darting out lazily to flick at the Russian’s body.

“Stop,” she says finally, reluctantly, dragging Madeline’s mouth away from her breast and ignoring the woman’s groan of disappointment. “I need to make sure we’re completely honest with each other from here on out. The easy part” - _the fun part,_ she thinks - “is over with, and this is when the work begins.”

“I’ve always been honest with you,” says Madeline, and there’s something like hurt in her tone, something that Amanda carefully files away for future reference.

Amanda cups Madeline’s face with one hand and smiles gently. “Good, then we won’t have any problems. Now, I need you to tell me: when are you going to discover Senator Mattison’s body?”

Madeline frowns slightly, pulling up the day’s schedule out of the fog of sleep and sex that wants to drown everything else out of her mind. She’s never been able to understand how quickly Amanda can go from sex to business, completely skipping over the fun of lying in bed, feeling pleasantly lazy and thoroughly fucked. Especially when she looks like . . . Amanda snaps her fingers in front of Madeline’s face and she shakes her head to try to focus.

“Uh, the Senate doesn’t convene until two tomorrow, and since everyone knows he went home sick today, they won’t start wondering why he hasn’t called until three or so.”

“Good,” Amanda says, and Madeline thinks she can almost see the wheels turning in the other woman’s mind, collecting schedules, making and rejecting plans, extrapolating timelines. She stares off into the middle distance, lips parted slightly as she considers some detail or other, and Madeline takes the chance to simply _stare,_ to watch the beautiful woman in front of her. The sheet is pooled around her waist, hair tousled and eyes shining, and Madeline’s wondering if she could come just from the look on Amanda’s face when the other woman suddenly asks, “Do you have any wine?”

Blushing, Madeline untangles herself from the sheets and swings her legs over the bed. “Yeah, of course, I meant to offer it to you when we came in, but-”

“We had better things to do,” Amanda assures her, smiling at the sway of Madeline’s hips as the older woman moves to the kitchen to pour them both a drink.

Their fingers brush as Madeline hands the glass over to her, and Amanda frowns inwardly at how even the brief contact makes Madeline lick her lips. The sex was one thing, but Madeline seemed to be growing . . . attached to her, and that wasn’t something they could afford.

Amanda takes a sip of the wine, manages to stop a comment about its less-than-superior quality. Madeline tends to drink whiskey, given the choice, the wine mostly for the benefit of her guests or for show at classy restaurants, and it shows. “Now,” she says, setting the glass firmly on the bedside table as Madeline climbs back into bed. “Obviously, it’s best for the city if we can get you elected without any further bloodshed. But you need to understand that there’s a very real possibility that that will not happen. Do you understand?”

“Of course,” Madeline says simply, already running through names of several very discreet media correspondents she could use for the campaign.

“The senator’s body won’t be discovered until around four pm. You’ll have to deal with the media, but we both know how good you are at that.” Madeline is perhaps the most visible chief of staff in the district, partially because of her impressive resume, but also because everyone knew that she was the one with real power in old Mattison’s office.

Madeline makes a small noise of assent, something that’s not quite a laugh and not quite anything else. “The governor’s had a shortlist for nominees for the rest of the term, but I doubt he’ll announce before the week is up,” she points out. “I can deal with the media until then.”

“I agree,” Amanda says, pleased that Madeline is completely on board. She had been worried, for a while earlier in the evening, when Madeline had seemed to reluctant to acknowledge the fact that not only had her boss _died,_ but that he had died at Amanda’s hands. But those worries were a thing of the past, and as they continue to talk, long past any reasonable hour, laying out an airtight timetable for Madeline’s election, she thinks that this is as close to contentment as she’s gotten in a long time.


End file.
